Scandal on Page Two
by WhatWldMrsWeasleyDo
Summary: Gregory Goyle is very confused by what he reads in the newspaper.


_Warnings/Notes:_ Betaed by "littleenglolita". Written for lj's ficadron.

_Wordcount:_ 1597

Scandal On Page Two

"Tea break, Mr Goyle."

Gregory liked the fact that his boss called him _Mr_ Goyle. He didn't have to, and nobody else did. They worked the night shift at the Daily Prophet's Press, printing the newspapers ready for breakfast time. He picked up a warm, crisp copy of the paper from the top of the stack.

This was his favourite thing about the job: he was allowed to know the news a few hours before the rest of the Wizarding world. It was a kind of power, the only kind he still had. He had been promised that he would be a leader of men, had believed that his cause would be victorious because it was right.

He _Apparated_ to the caff at the back of St Mungo's. There was one table of hospital porters and a pair of undertakers on the stools at the side; at this time of night it was usually this empty.

"Your usual?" asked the witch behind the counter.

Her name was Aphrodite. She chewed tobacco and swore more creatively than anyone else Gregory knew. He was more than a little bit in love with her. As he took his scalding mug of tea he noticed that his finger pads were lack with ink and he wondered whether she minded.

While he sat and waited for his Full English Breakfast, he spooned sugar into his tea and picked up the paper. There were politicians shaking hands on the front page. He didn't follow politics, he didn't understand it any more. At the end of the war his father had told him, "That's it! We Goyles don't take orders any more. We'll think for ourselves."

Neither of them had known what to think since, so they just steered clear of politics. Gregory took a deep swallow of tea. That he understood; it was hot and sweet and strong; it made him feel better. He turned the page.

Half of the next page was taken up with one of those blurred night-time shots of people who didn't want to be seen. Ah! He liked these stories. Most of them were about sex, and all of them were about people who were more successful than him or their sex lives wouldn't have been in the paper. He liked to laugh at them for getting caught doing something bad.

He couldn't work out the identity of the couple because they were shielding their faces. The photo had been taken at the back door of a high class hotel. Most of the people who could stay in expensive hotels these days were the same ones whose heads he'd flushed in the school bathrooms. He couldn't puzzle out how those weaklings had ended up being life's winners.

He scanned the words under the picture. Now that couldn't be right! He spelled out the five familiar letters to himself: D.R.A.C.O. It was unmistakable. There was only one Draco in the world, and that was his best (well, only) friend. He checked the picture again. One of them did appear to be blond. It was all very strange.

Gregory put his finger under the printed words and his lips moved as he read the article:

_Last night our intrepid reporter_ (according to the Prophet, all their reporters were intrepid, even though Gregory knew several who never went further than the coffee machine) _uncovered a scandal at the Fallen Unicorn Hotel in Shrewsbury. She discovered former Death Eater, Draco Malfoy_ (he was always described like that. Never "former Quidditch Captain", or "future master of Malfoy manor", or "current best friend of Gregory Goyle". The only time Gregory had ever been in the paper – which he shouldn't have been because nothing was ever proved – he'd been described as "son of a former Death Eater") _attempting to sneak out of the staff entrance with - _No! That had to be wrong! Gregory couldn't work out how his employer could have made such an obvious mistake.

Aphrodite whistled at him and he looked up to see a laden, steaming plate floating over to him. He took it gratefully out of the air and began his assault on it. No mysteries in sausages. As he chewed, he took another look at the photograph. He glanced casually, because, after all, there was no point in his reading this story any more now that he knew how wrong it was. He just had a bit of a look at the other person, the one who wasn't blond. The hair showed as a mid-grey in the monochrome. It could have been ginger.

And the body? Gregory did his best to look round Draco in the picture. There didn't seem to be any tits. So maybe it was a man. A ginger man. Why would Draco have been sneaking around with a ginger man? Even if he had been, then it would never have been the ginger man named by the Prophet. Gregory tried to puzzle it out, but he couldn't.

Or maybe it wasn't the story that he had thought it was. These ones were usually about sex. Not always though. He sighed with relief and took a long drink of his tea. That would be it. Dodgy business dealings, that was more likely. That made sense.

He was dunking his black pudding into his ketchup when he froze mid-chew. Because how could it be dodgy business dealings when the Golden Trio never broke the law. He looked back at the page and stared at those two impossible words: _Ron Weasley_. He couldn't figure it out, though, because Draco hated all Weasleys. Especially Ron.

Back when they'd been at school, Draco had told everyone he hated Weasley. He'd gone on and on about just how much he despised The Chosen Sidekick, as he called him. Sometimes he'd spent hours at a time itemising every little thing that was wrong with Ron. In fact, there had been whole weeks when his sole topic of conversation had been "Ronald bloody-freckled-git Weasley" and "how I hate every last bit of him."

Draco was impressively observant when he hated someone. There were things he disdained about the Weasel that nobody else even noticed: the way his hair fell over his face, his facial expression when he dropped the quaffle, the shape of his fingernails, his pronunciation of "flobberworm".

Whenever Gregory lunched at the Manor, he would bring a copy of that day's paper and Draco would search it for news of Ron. He would celebrate every misfortune and get angry if anything went well for his enemy. When he had seen the Special Edition for Weasley's wedding to the Mudblood, with all those colour photos of the two of them holding hands and smiling, Draco had wrecked that nice yellow sitting room with a fit of rage.

But when he'd found the announcement of their divorce it had put him in a good mood for weeks. He'd even offered to pay Gregory for that copy of the paper, instead of just taking it as he usually did. And when Ron had been demoted and sent back to England by Gringotts, he had gone so far as to pay for a round of drinks!

So either those people in that picture were not, as the usually infallible Prophet claimed they were, Draco Malfoy and Ron Weasley, or the story was not about sex. Gregory was confused. He read on, getting baked bean sauce on the page, which Draco would scold him for later. No, he wouldn't, because Gregory was never going to be brave enough to show him an edition with this story in it. He started again from the beginning, hoping that this time it would make sense:

_Last night our intrepid reporter uncovered a scandal at the Fallen Unicorn Hotel in Shrewsbury. She discovered former Death Eater, Draco Malfoy, attempting to sneak out of the staff entrance with Ron Weasley, the young man most famous for being the best friend of _(they had to mention Potter, of course. They were always sticking his name into every article they could). _The youngest son of Molly and Arthur Weasley has never offered an explanation for the ending last year of his marriage to fellow hero, Professor Hermione Granger. Draco Malfoy's own marriage was anulled after the birth of his son. _

_Staff at the seven star hotel confirmed, anonymously, that the two men had spent the night in one of the suites together and had made "all sorts of noises like you wouldn't believe." Neither of them was prepared to make a statement to this paper._

That was it. Gregory sat up. he rubbed his eyes. He stared out of the window at the fat raindrops falling onto it out of the dark. There had to be a reasonable explanation, but he was too stupid to work out what it was. He knew what the Prophet was implying, but that couldn't be right.

He looked over at the counter where Aphrodite was spitting tobacco onto a hotplate, then down at the scrappy white remnants of his egg floating on a sheen of grease. These things he understood. But not Draco spending a night with Ron Weasley. That made no sense at all.

Unless ... yes! Fighting! Of course. They had wanted somewhere private for a fight. He wiped his plate with his toast.

Now he understood.


End file.
